"Yes, a good deal," he continued; "but we won't be unhappy long about it. We're no worse off than we were before. And there's one thing: we are very lucky to have got out of it so soon,—before we had put any money into it."
"What does Mr. Kleesman say?" asked Nelly.
"He says that there is a little silver in the ore, but not enough to make it pay to work the mine," replied her father; "and he says that he is more sorry to say this than he has ever been before in his life to say that ore was not good. I will read you the letter."
Then Mr. March read the whole letter aloud to Nelly. The last sentence was a droll one. Mr. Kleesman said:—
"I have for your little girl so great love that I do wish she may never have more sorrow as this."
"What does he mean, papa?" asked Nelly.
"Why, he means that he hopes this disappointment about the mine will be the most serious sorrow you will ever know: that nothing worse will ever happen to you," replied Mr. March.
"Oh," said Nelly, "is that it? I couldn't make it mean any thing. Well, I hope so too."
"So do I," said Mrs. March.
"And I," said Mr. March. "And if nothing worse ever does happen to us than to think for a few weeks we have found a fortune, and then to find that we haven't, we shall be very lucky people."